Up in the Air
by Shannon A. Bernstein
Summary: A chance encounter. A hookup that never should have happened. When orchestra musician Roderich Edelstein and airline employee Gilbert Beilschmidt meet, there's instant attraction. But what happens when they get to know each other better - and see each other's every flaw? The answer is all up in the air.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone! First of all, I want to apologize for not publishing fanfics as often as I had been. Things had just been really crazy. But to make up for it, here is a new PruAus AU! The first chapter's a bit short, but I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

Rain fell from the sky in sheets and chilled him to the bone. He gritted his teeth as his trench coat started to soak through and silently cursed himself for having forgotten his umbrella. Head down, he slogged through the downpour, searching for a pay phone in the seemingly endless swirl of gray that consumed the foreign city.

Nothing had gone right so far since Roderich Edelstein had stepped foot inside the airport. His plane had been delayed for six hours. He'd missed his connecting flight and had to stand in line for an hour to try to get a new one. He'd stumbled off the jet frazzled and exhausted, his hair a mess and his patience a wreck, only to find that the airline had misplaced his luggage. The airport staff had been useless.

But the worst part was that the Vienna Philharmonic was performing tomorrow, and he still hadn't gotten his violin back.

Lost in the middle of an unfamiliar city, cell phone dead and unable to find his way to his hotel, Roderich shuffled inside a phone booth. Part of him wanted to try fighting with the airport one last time, but the other part just wanted to escape the weather. He slipped a few coins in the slot, dialed the number, and waited as the phone rang.

"Hello, Lufthansa Airlines, Gilbert Beilschmidt speaking. How may I help you?"

Roderich fell silent. On the other end of the line was the most mesmerizing, inviting voice he'd heard in days. Though his accent clearly said 'Berliner,' his voice was warm with just a little bit of roughness to it. The Austrian wanted to just melt with the phone still in his hand.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Oh…" Roderich snapped back to reality. "Yes, I'm sorry. I've called several times already. My luggage was misplaced after I missed a connecting flight. I need it tomorrow morning early for a concert and I was told I would receive a phone call at two in the afternoon. That was _hours_ ago!"

By the time he'd finished that little speech, the irritation in Roderich's voice had grown until he was very nearly yelling at the airline employee. "Sorry…" he mumbled, voice returning to normal. Gilbert probably had nothing to do with his luggage being lost.

"That's all right," Gilbert replied, sounding calm and unfazed. "We understand your frustration. Can you give me your name and your flight number? I can help you sort this out."

Roderich fumbled for the crumpled, half-soaked boarding pass that had been shoved haphazardly into his jacket pocket, and rattled off the information. The other end of the line went nearly silent. The _click-clack_ of fingers on a computer keyboard was the only sound that could be heard.

For a moment, the Austrian wanted to resign himself to the hopelessness of his situation. He'd never get his violin back, he thought. He'd never perform in that concert, he thought. But there was something about Gilbert's voice, something that made Roderich believe he would make an effort when no one else had.

"Roderich, are you still there?"

His name, being spoken in that warm Berliner accent. Roderich caught his cheeks pinking slightly. "Yes…yes, I'm still here."

"I've found where your bags are located, both your suitcase and your violin case. They made it to our airport, but it took them a long time. I will personally make sure they are sent to your hotel tonight."

Roderich breathed a long, shaky sigh of relief, and for a moment, it was as though all the exhaustion of travel stress had melted away. Gilbert's voice and the patter of rain falling outside turned the little glass phone booth into his own temporary sanctuary of sorts.

"Thank you, Gilbert. Thank you very much. You're the most helpful person I've spoken to this entire time."

There was a laugh, soft and deep. For the first time in over forty-eight mind-numbing hours, Roderich cracked a smile. "I'm just doing my job," Gilbert said. "I wanted to help, so I did."

"Well, you certainly did," Roderich confirmed.

"All right, Roderich. I hope you enjoy the rest of your trip. I apologize on behalf of the rest of my company and we hope you'll give Lufthansa another try in the future. Take care!"

Roderich barely had the chance to get out the words "You too…" before there was a click, silence, and then a dial tone.

_Gilbert Beilschmidt._ The Austrian repeated the name silently to himself, committing it to memory. When he got back to the airport to fly home, he'd try to find the man who had helped him so much. If the voice was any indication of the rest of him, Gilbert must be handsome and cheerful, Roderich thought. Was it possible to be attracted to someone based only on his voice?

At that thought, Roderich almost wanted to laugh at himself. It was silly. Ridiculous, even.

Besides, the chances that he'd ever meet Gilbert, at the airport or otherwise, were all up in the air.

* * *

He hung up the office phone, rested both his elbows on the desk, and breathed a long, weary sigh. Being in charge of lost baggage for the airline meant he encountered irate, frazzled travelers on a daily basis who seemed to think the loss of their suitcases was personally his fault. They acted like _he_ had been the one who had been out on the tarmac, loading bags onto the plane. And with Berlin Tegel Airport jam-packed with far more travelers than it had been intended to hold, as the opening of the new airport was delayed over and over again, it seemed like things were even worse.

That customer, Gilbert thought, hadn't been too bad. Sure, he'd been a little irritated at first. But those kinds of delays and complications would have been enough to make even the most seasoned of travelers annoyed and out of sorts. And that guy had seemed more grateful than most. Most people, even when Gilbert was able to locate the bags and deliver them in a timely fashion, huffed out words of thanks as though they were still angry with him for having supposedly been the one to misplace their bags. Some people didn't thank him at all.

It was a tiresome job, for sure.

He propped his face up in his hand for a moment and turned his gaze out the window to watch a fairly large jet rocket into the sky. He sighed again, this one filled with longing. Some lucky pilot was up in the air right now, while he was tied to a desk.

The door clicked open. Gilbert's head jerked up as he saw a disheveled-looking family of three shuffle through the door to his office. Only the daughter, who looked to be about seven years old, wore a grin. Who knew whether or not the father would yell at him? Whether the mother would complain? Gilbert shook off his weariness and affixed a smile to his face, because it was his job. It was time to get back to reality.

* * *

Three hours later, as the onset of evening further darkened the chilling gray sky, Roderich finally located his hotel. His clothes were so heavy with rainwater that it felt as though he was soaked right to the bone. He shivered and wrapped both arms around himself as he stepped into the lobby. Outside, the rain pelted the city mercilessly. Only a moment ago, it had been drizzling lightly, just enough to keep him freezing even after having spent almost an hour sitting in a little café nibbling at a pastry and sipping cup after cup of hot tea in an effort to chase away the cold.

Roderich allowed a grimace to cross his face for only a second. Once he approached the front desk, he forced his face to take on a reasonably pleasant expression, or at least as pleasant as one's expression could be after the travel nightmare he'd just endured. "I have a reservation under Roderich Edelstein," he said wearily, slumping against the desk a little.

The receptionist made a few more clicks on the computer keyboard. It was a sound that had become familiar to Roderich over the course of the past twenty-four hours since the first plane had been delayed. "Yes, we have you in room 304. Here's your key," she said. The Austrian reached out and accepted the key, relieved. Finally, he'd be able to get some rest –

"Oh, Mr. Edelstein. Two bags arrived for you from the airport."

Roderich had been about to shuffle into the hotel elevator so that he could find his room, strip off his wet clothes, and sink down into his bed at last. But those words made him stop in his tracks. He glanced almost hopefully over his shoulder. Already? How could it be? What if they had sent him the wrong bags by accident and the nightmare wasn't over?

Tentatively, he took the few steps back to the front desk. There it was – his slate-gray suitcase with a ribbon in the colors of the Austrian flag tied around the handle. And next to it, his precious Stradivarius, tucked safely in its case. For the second time that day, Roderich smiled. It was a tiny, exhausted smile, but it was there nevertheless. "Thank God…" he breathed. "…And thank _you_, miss," he added as an afterthought, already crossing the lobby toward the elevators.

Fifteen minutes later, dressed in his warm, clean oversized t-shirt, Roderich crawled into bed and shut his eyes. There was no better feeling than this.

"…Gilbert Beilschmidt…"

He pronounced the name at a hoarse whisper, trying to commit it to memory.

"…Thank you."

* * *

**As always, thanks for reading, and reviews are love :)**

**Oh, and thank you to my beta, user Kuroi Inanis!**


	2. Chapter 2

One year passed.

A year measured in orchestra rehearsals, rosin, sheet music, frequent flier miles, and the vast expanse of nothing that lingered in between. Wherever music touched Roderich's life, there was light. But everything else held the blandest hue of gray imaginable. It was the kind of gray that sucked the color from everything else around it like a big sponge that fed on happiness.

He was alone, but he had no idea why he should come to expect that things would be any different.

The jet rocketed out of the sky and Roderich tensed, teeth gritted, as it bounced onto the landing strip. A dull ache was starting to press at his temples. Traveling was the one thing about his job that he really hated, but going on tour came with being a part of an internationally recognized orchestra.

This time, he and the other members of the Vienna Philharmonic were returning from a tour of America, but they'd stop in Berlin for a few days, as they often did, because the audience there seemed to like them. But at this point, the only thing that distinguished each plane flight, each tour, and each venue from another was the music he played when he arrived. A plane was just as cramped and headache-inducing whether it was roaring into New York City, or London Heathrow Airport for a layover on the way to Berlin.

Groaning, Roderich stood when the plane had parked and shuffled into the aisle. No sooner had he touched the overhead compartment than he found his duffel bag falling directly into his face. _"Seriously –"_ he grumbled under his breath, face scrunching up in irritation. Looping his arm in the bag's handles, he made his way stiffly down the aisle, off the plane, and into the London airport.

"Roderich – "

"Hm?" The Austrian halted in his tracks on the way to the restroom, trying to remain composed as he spun around to face one of his fellow violinists.

"Don't forget to re-check your bags," the man said almost teasingly.

Roderich let out an audible huff of irritation. "I'm not going to_ forget_ something like that. I'll be back."

Maybe the remark was just for fun. Or maybe it was because everyone in the orchestra knew that Roderich seemed to be out of sorts from the moment he set foot in an airport. Either way, the Austrian very nearly sulked off to use the restroom, wanting nothing more than to get some sleep.

He forgot to re-check his bags.

When everyone else's suitcases and instruments came rolling onto the luggage conveyor belt in Berlin, Roderich's didn't. He waited and waited but didn't catch sight of that gray suitcase with the ribbons in the color of the Austrian flag tied around the handle. He waited and waited but didn't see that case with his Stradivarius inside. The look on his face must have been more than enough to tell the whole story, because his standmate patted his shoulder a few times and suggested that he find the lost luggage office. "You'll get them back before tomorrow," she reassured sweetly.

Roderich sulked off again, this time in search of an office amidst an airport he could get lost in, with no one at his side. After having to ask three different airport employees, he finally stumbled down a side corridor and into an office, where a silver-haired head was bent over a computer keyboard. _Oh, perfect. It will be some old man who forgets even his own name – _

The head jerked up. The face greeting Roderich was not the one he expected at all. Smooth skin paler than he'd ever seen it before, attractive features – but what caught him most was the man's eyes, bright crimson and seeming to sparkle from within, even if they were rimmed in dark circles to match Roderich's weary purple. The man cracked a smile. "Gilbert Beilschmidt. How may I help you?"

"Gilbert Beilschmidt…" Roderich repeated aloud. Where had he heard that name before, accompanied by that rough yet slightly warm voice? From within the recesses of his memory, stored amongst useless bits of information from high school such as how a star was formed, he recalled a chilling, rainy spring day, an even more frustrating plane flight, and sanctuary in a phone booth. _It's him._ That was all Roderich could think. What should he do now? He'd never expected to actually find himself face to face with the man whom he'd spoken to on the phone that day.

"Ah, well…I seem to have forgotten to re-check my luggage in London," he mumbled, suddenly almost ashamed of how frazzled he got when traveling. "Might I get it back, please?"

"Of course," Gilbert said with a nod. "I'll just have to call them and ask them to re-route it. Let me do that right now." He punched a few numbers and held the phone to his ear, speaking English with a heavy accent into the receiver.

In a few minutes, he hung up. "Done," he announced proudly. "It's going on the next flight from Heathrow to Tegel, leaves in an hour."

"Thank you, Mr. Beilschmidt," Roderich said, trying to sound as grateful as one could while standing in front of a man he'd never expected to meet in person – not to mention he was exhausted. "One more thing. Could you perhaps point me to where I might get a cab? I need to get back to my hotel," he added.

"You know what?" Gilbert said out of nowhere. "My shift ends in…" he paused to push back his shirtsleeve a little and glance at his watch, "…fifteen minutes. I was going to grab something to eat after work, anyway. Don't feel like cooking. You want to split a cab?"

Roderich didn't hesitate for a second. Splitting a cab meant saving money. "Absolutely. I might go and get a cup of coffee or tea or something, and I will meet you back here then?"

"Sounds good," Gilbert confirmed with a nod.

Starbucks was all Roderich could find in the airport, so he sipped on a vanilla latté while he waited the fifteen minutes. Roderich jumped when he felt Gilbert nudge his arm. He had zoned out, lost in flavored coffee and the music that lived inside his head. Their cab was waiting for them already. Roderich slid in first and Gilbert shuffled in behind him, draping an arm lazily across the top of the seat behind the Austrian's head. "So…where did you say you were headed?" the German asked.

"Oh, my hotel."

"Did you eat already?" A curious tilt of the head accompanied Gilbert's question.

Roderich shook his head slowly. "No, I was just going to eat when I got there or something," he answered.

"Oh, well that's no good!" Gilbert said brightly, wrinkling his nose a little for the effect. "Hotel food isn't that great. You'll never experience Berlin like that. You're coming with me, and we're getting Italian."

"But you don't have to –"

"No 'buts.' Italian."

Roderich let out a little huff that almost sounded frustrated. But Gilbert's tone didn't leave much room for arguing, and besides, someone else was offering to buy him food. That was an offer he simply couldn't pass up, even as unusual as the situation was. "All right," the Austrian replied reluctantly. This wasn't some sort of date, was it? His gaze shifted nervously to Gilbert, and then out the window. Even if it was, it wouldn't be a big deal, right? People went on dates all the time, sometimes with relative strangers. He breathed a shaky sigh and leaned back in his seat, trying to relax.

Not long later, the two sat across from each other, a beer in front of Gilbert and a glass of Riesling in front of Roderich. The Austrian raised both eyebrows and gave the other man a pointed look. "You're having _beer_…with Italian food?" he asked flatly.

"Of course. I'm German, aren't I? Local brand. It's good. Want to try it?"

"No, I'm fine with my drink."

Gilbert let out a chuckle. "Wine guy, huh? That's all right. I'll let that one slide. So, you already know what I do for a living. What about you?"

"Oh…I'm with the Vienna Philharmonic," Roderich began. "That's why I travel so much. We go on tour."

Leaning across the table a little toward Roderich, Gilbert asked with interest, "Oh, what do you play? Do you like it?"

"Oh, I love it. I play the violin. It's really a dream job for me." Roderich hadn't even noticed the vaguely dreamy way he spoke when he mentioned his music, even when his pasta arrived and was placed in front of him.

"Is it? That's great. I'm glad you found that something," Gilbert remarked.

That comment took them into an hour-long conversation about their jobs. Roderich told Gilbert about his talented but temperamental maestro, who had a tendency to fling batons when he was angry. Gilbert giggled like a schoolboy when the Austrian mentioned the baton bouncing off the conductor's stand and whacking a violinist on the nose. In return, the silver-haired man told Roderich about the customer who accidentally took someone else's bag, only to open it up and find it filled with sex toys. Roderich let a tiny chuckle slip out at that story. Gilbert was funny, whether he was trying to be or not, and surprisingly charming, if not a little rough around the edges. And he offered to pay even as the waiter came back to refill Roderich's wine glass three more times. So when Gilbert asked if Roderich might like to come back to his apartment for a cup of coffee, the Austrian nodded and followed after him, a little tipsy and lightheaded from so much Riesling.

Back at Gilbert's apartment, which was modest but cleanly decorated, the coffee was brewing and Roderich was hoping to sober up a little before he went back to the hotel. How had he ever allowed himself to drink four glasses of wine? Gilbert had probably had two or three pints of beer himself.

Carrying two cups of coffee, Gilbert made his way to the table, where Roderich was seated. "Here you are," he said softly as he leaned down to place the cup in front of Roderich. Then, he turned his head to the side a little and gently captured the Austrian's lips with his own.

Roderich froze. What was Gilbert _doing?_ A hand flattened against the other man's chest as if to push him away. "Gil…Gilbert…" he mumbled against the German's lips until he pulled back at last, crimson eyes wide with shock.

"Shit, I'm sorry…" Gilbert said awkwardly. "I didn't really mean for that to happen. It…"

Instead of answering, Roderich leaned up and gently grasped at the collar of Gilbert's shirt, using it to tug the albino closer to him. He closed the distance until their lips met again. Tongues flicked against lips, wandered and pressed against each other. Gilbert still tasted like beer, and Roderich decided he sort of liked it.

The kiss felt really good, almost _too_ good, and when the German pulled back, Roderich couldn't help but let out a breathless giggle. With the fuzz of alcohol clouding his mind, his inhibitions were starting to slip a little. He barely had a moment to breathe, though. Gilbert pulled Roderich into another kiss, this one much more forceful than the last, as the Austrian stood to reach the other's lips better. An arm found its way around his waist, pulling him in closer until their bodies were pressed flush against each other. Gilbert's body felt so incredibly warm against Roderich's, and as the Austrian pushed back with his hips against the other's, he felt a little shiver jolt up and down his spine. Oh God, was he really getting a little hard? A low whine left his lips. Roderich's body was reacting without the permission of his rational mind, and he knew Gilbert _had_ to feel it.

"Roderich," Gilbert breathed, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "We should fix that, shouldn't we?" A brief pause, then his voice suddenly became a little more nervous. "I mean, only if you want to."

"I…" _Did_ he want to? His mind wasn't sure, but his body was saying yes. He chewed his lip for a moment before answering. "I…think I want to. But are we really going to do this?"

"Why not?" Gilbert said simply.

"I mean…" Roderich traced his pointer finger across the German's chest. "Aren't I sort of a customer of yours? Isn't that sort of frowned upon?"

Gilbert just shrugged. "Maybe. But fuck the rules."

Fifteen minutes later, their clothes lay in a heap on the floor of Gilbert's bedroom. Gilbert's bed sheets were tangled beneath them, Roderich's glasses on the nightstand, chocolate-brown hair slightly mussed from fingers running through it, lips reddened from kisses. The albino was panting and squirming from having Roderich's mouth all over his erection. _I want it now_, said the glimmer in his crimson eyes. But Gilbert knew they'd have to wait just a little longer. He leaned over and fumbled in the nightstand drawer for a bottle of lube as Roderich waited as patiently as he possibly could.

The next thing Roderich knew, a slick finger was rubbing against his entrance as if in warning. Then it slid inside and the Austrian let out a moan as his toes curled under and his fingers grasped desperately at the bed sheets beneath him. It hurt, just a little bit. But the flash of pain quickly faded as a second finger slipped in and started gently thrusting in and out. Another moan escaped him. Roderich found himself rocking back against Gilbert's fingers, even as a third was added and he felt another little pulse of pain.

His legs were shaking a little. It took every inch of strength and self-control he possessed to pull himself up to straddle Gilbert, one of his knees hugging each of the albino's hips. He leaned down to whisper right into the other man's ear, "All right, I think I'm ready now. How should we do this?"

"I…think you should ride me."

Gilbert's words were spoken with just a phantom trace of hesitance. Roderich found it strangely cute, the way the bigger and stronger of the two of them seemed almost nervous. Not that the Austrian was all confidence, either. But Gilbert was gorgeous and all his for the night, and when the morning came, it was likely that they'd never see each other again. What was the use for Roderich's everyday formalities in a stranger's bed in Berlin?

"That can be arranged," Roderich murmured evenly. He watched, almost impatient, as Gilbert reached for the bottle of lube that sat out waiting for them on the nightstand and slicked his erection with it. The Austrian's body trembled a little in need, and he bit gently into his lower lip in an attempt to hide it. _Hurry up, _he wanted to plead, but he forced back the words. He couldn't let Gilbert have the upper hand, not so soon.

Roderich had intended to teasingly trace a finger along the underside of Gilbert's cock, but as soon as the bottle of lube returned to its place on the nightstand, he decided he couldn't wait that much longer. He placed a hand on each of the German's shoulders for support as he lowered himself down, just enough for the tip of Gilbert's cock to nudge at his entrance. Even that little bit of contact had Roderich aching to let out a long, low moan. But instead he pressed his lips into a thin line, rocking his hips ever so slightly to rub his entrance against Gilbert's tip – slowly, teasingly. With a kind of understated satisfaction, Roderich watched the German's brows furrow, felt the other man's hips jerk underneath him, heard the muted whimper that followed. It was clear that neither of them could wait another minute. So Roderich spread his legs wider as he let himself slip back all the way, this time unable to keep a moan from escaping him once he could feel every inch of Gilbert inside of him.

That moan was followed by a sharp gasp as Roderich's fingernails dug into Gilbert's shoulders. It had been so long, too long, since the last time he'd done this, and even with the preparation, there was still a moment of discomfort. For a moment, he remained motionless, clinging to the German as he adjusted to his size. When the brief jolt of pain dissipated, all that was left was trembling need, Gilbert's cock twitching inside of him, Roderich's aching for attention.

The Austrian exhaled shakily as he started to rock his hips, slowly at first. Just like that first long kiss they'd shared, it felt almost too good. He needed more, and he needed it right now. Shoving down the little voice in the back of his mind that told him to take it slowly, Roderich used his grip on Gilbert's shoulders to lift himself up and then slide back down again. Gilbert let out a desperate little whine. Roderich's lips twitched upwards into what could have been a smirk. He'd done something right, it seemed. Had his mind not been clouded over with need and building pleasure, he would have thought that Gilbert, despite his tough exterior, was actually really adorable, even in bed. But clear thinking was becoming more and more difficult with each passing moment. He repeated the movement again, this time lifting himself up nearly all the way before he let himself slip back again.

He let out another little noise of his own and kept moving, building up a steady pace. Gilbert's hips started to roll to meet each one of Roderich's movements, and when they did, the Austrian let his head tilt all the way back as he moaned rather loudly. Without even trying, the German had hit that sweet spot. Roderich's legs squeezed Gilbert's hips, legs wrapping around the other man's waist. But Gilbert didn't seem to mind. He simply kept up his movements, hitting just the right place over and over again, making Roderich moan over and over again.

"Gi-Gilbert…" After a shaky whisper of the German's name, Roderich leaned in for a rough kiss to muffle the noises he was making. How thick were these walls? Could the people living in the apartments next door hear them? _That _would be embarrassing.

The thought vanished almost as instantly as it had come, though, as Gilbert's hand molded around Roderich's cock and started to slide up and down it. This was almost too much to handle. Heat and tightness started to coil in the Austrian's core. Now it was Gilbert's turn to wear a look of smug satisfaction, his hand moving in time with the way their bodies rocked together. Roderich knew he couldn't hold on longer. It was only a matter of time now; he could _feel_ it. He opened his mouth to let Gilbert know he was close, but all that came out was another moan as his legs squeezed the other man's hips even more tightly. All it took was a thumb brushing the sensitive head of his cock for Roderich to tighten around Gilbert as he came so hard his vision went white for a moment or two. The German was close at his heels. He let his forehead fall forward onto Roderich's shoulder when he followed the Austrian into climax only a second or two later.

Roderich let his body go limp with post-orgasmic bliss as he slid off and flopped down onto the bed next to Gilbert. "That…that was really good," he breathed, his heart still thrumming madly in his chest.

"It was, wasn't it?" Gilbert scooted in close to Roderich and pressed a much gentler kiss first to his lips, then to his temple. The Austrian almost wanted to giggle at the affectionate gesture, maybe because he simply wasn't used to it.

"God, I'm never going without sex for nine months ever again," the Austrian added lazily. "I don't know how I did it."

"Nine months?" Gilbert echoed. He snorted a little, and then laughed.

Wrinkling his nose, Roderich gently swatted at the German's arm. "Stop laughing at me! It's not funny!"

Instead of answering right away, Gilbert just kissed Roderich again, then chucked some more. "I'm laughing because it's been three _years_ for me."

"Three years? How do you _live?_"

"I don't know," Gilbert deadpanned.

For a moment, there was complete silence.

Then, Gilbert laughed again, and so did Roderich. It was strange; he didn't laugh often, especially around those he didn't know well. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he'd just finished having sex. Maybe it was just that laughter came so naturally to Gilbert that it was easy to get pulled in. Or maybe it was both.

Roderich quieted for a moment as the sounds of another jet taking off rumbled faintly in the distance. He caught himself grimacing a little. "I'm sorry you got stuck living so close to the airport," he commented. "It must be nearly impossible to sleep at night."

Gilbert was silent, too. Gilbert, who was so full of talk and laughter, was silent. "Um, Roderich…this was where I _wanted_ to live."

"…Oh. I'm sorry." Roderich felt his cheeks redden a little. That had been a thoughtless thing to say, hadn't it?

"Nah, it's fine." Gilbert seemed to brush the remark off quickly. "This might be silly, but…I want to be up there. I want to be a pilot. I have ever since I was a kid."

Gilbert was just full of surprises, wasn't he? Roderich couldn't help but be a little intrigued. "Well, then why aren't you?" he said honestly.

"Because my parents thought it was a foolish job," Gilbert said. "They wouldn't let me take flying lessons and sent me to a normal university instead. When I got out of college, Lufthansa in Berlin was the only company that would hire me. And I don't have the time or money to get lessons myself anymore, so I figured, you know…this was a dream that just wasn't meant to be."

When Gilbert had finished speaking, Roderich just stared at him. The German had just told Roderich about a lifelong dream of his, and how it had been shot down, and they had only met early that evening. It was incredible, really. The Austrian would have never offered that much information to a near-stranger, even if they _had_ just had sex. He was at a loss for words. So instead, he reached over and absently traced circles up and down Gilbert's arm with his fingertips. "I'm sorry…" he murmured.

Gilbert let out a little sigh, followed by a smile. "No, I am. I didn't mean to just…dump all of that on you. It's just that, instead of doing what I want to do, I'm taking care of irate customers when it wasn't even me who caused their problems. But I guess work is supposed to suck, isn't it?"

Roderich wanted to comment that he loved almost every minute of his job. Of course, there were days when the maestro was at his last nerves, or when the Austrian's fingers fumbled when he tried to play the difficult passages. For the most part, though, he got paid to play music, and there was nothing he found more enjoyable. But he kept silent in case it might further remind Gilbert of how much he hated his own job.

The German said nothing more. He turned his head a little so his nose was pressed up against Roderich's forehead, almost like a nuzzle. It was almost foreign to the Austrian. None of his past lovers had particularly been much for cuddling, nor had Roderich. But Gilbert didn't seem satisfied to just separate once they'd finished.

He cleared his throat a little. "Ah…Gilbert?" he said, a little hesitantly, since the German seemed so content to just lay here right now. "Maybe I should get going now. I have a very early rehearsal before we perform tomorrow. I'd hate to wake you up when I leave."

"Oh, Roddy…" When had Gilbert come up with that nickname? Just now? "It wouldn't bother me, but as it turns out, I have an early shift tomorrow. I'll be up when you are. Besides, you don't want to go all the way back to your hotel _now_, do you?"

Violet eyes drifted over to meet crimson. Gilbert's smile looked just as warm as the bed felt. He really _didn't_ want to move anymore for the rest of the night. "Fine. I'll stay," he said at last. The German looked pleased with that.

In about ten minutes, Roderich fell asleep in Gilbert's arms.

* * *

At five o'clock the next morning, Roderich's preset phone alarm went off. He groaned and rolled over to face Gilbert, his face resting against the comforting warmth of the German's bare chest. Slowly, he felt that warmth slip away, and he pried his eyes open to find Gilbert already standing up and fishing for his boxers on the floor. "Morning, sleepyhead!" he greeted in a surprisingly bright voice. "I'll make you breakfast before you go."

"You don't have to…" Roderich mumbled sleepily. He just wanted to sleep for a little longer.

"Seriously, it's no trouble. I like a big breakfast before I deal with disgruntled travelers, anyway."

Before there could be any further argument on the subject, the smell of coffee was wafting from the kitchen. Roderich and Gilbert shared a breakfast of bacon and fried potatoes over weary sighs, grumbles, and stray comments on the morning news as it played on the radio.

Roderich left for rehearsal thinking of rosin, violin bows, and that electric tremble that ran through his body when the orchestra played Stravinsky.

Gilbert watched Roderich leave thinking of nothing but the violet of the Austrian's eyes, and the way they seemed to sparkle when he spoke of his music.

Then, the German crawled back into bed.

He didn't have to go to work. It was Saturday. He was off for the weekend.

* * *

**As always, thanks for reading, and reviews are love :)**


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